


I trusted you.

by LB_Mamba



Series: A Tale of Trust, Betrayal, Death and Rebirth [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Arguing, Denial, Dream & Wilbur & Techno & Tommy & Tubbo are there too but they have like 3 lines each, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Jschlatt Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt Needs a Hug, Jschlatt POV, Jschlatt-centric, L'manberg War, Lies, Pain, Post-Betrayal, Quackity needs a Hug, Suicide, Swearing, Then Quackity POV, jschlatt dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27884164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LB_Mamba/pseuds/LB_Mamba
Summary: Schlatt has lost. Everyone can see it.One last fight.One last conversation.... Could this really be called a victory ?
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Floris | Fundy & Jschlatt
Series: A Tale of Trust, Betrayal, Death and Rebirth [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033662
Comments: 18
Kudos: 213





	I trusted you.

**Author's Note:**

> Currently watching the exile stream and screeching, but hey !  
> This one shot is a continuation of the other fic in this series, but it can be read on its own.  
> Once again, English isn't my first language, so there probably are mistakes I haven't seen, don't be afraid to point them out to me !  
> And still kind of canon compliant but I modified the dialogues, and a certain aspect. You'll see.  
> There probably will be a third instalment in this series, so be sure to subscribe to it to not miss it :)

Schlatt stared at the arrow poking from his hip in displeasure.

He wasn't even sure of who had managed to hit him. It all had happened so fast, too fast. His entire body hurt from jumping from the tower and running for so long, and that was without even mentioning the pain of the arrow. His legs were sore, his arms were sore, he was out of breath. An easy pray.

He was losing.

No, screw that. He had already lost. He was delaying the inevitable, but his enemies were going to find him sooner than later, and he wasn't going to appreciate what was coming for him.

God, why was he even still stalling ? Pride ? Honor ? Did he even have some of these left ?

He had been spiraling ever since Quackity's departure, ever since the man had stabbed - or rather shot - him in the back and fled from his crime. Well, maybe he had deserved it. Maybe it had been coming for him, after all the teasing, the mocking, the provoking. He wasn't sure of anything anymore.

He had been drinking. Well, he had always been a heavy drinker, but it definitely hadn't improved when he had found himself standing alone. He had been smoking, too. Once again, not unusual, except for the quantities he consumed now. He was scarcely seen without a cigar in his mouth, or a bottle in his hand.

He had gotten pretty good at makeup, though. If only to hide his deepening eyebags and the traces of malnutrition on his face. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

He barely even recalled the evening after Quackity's betrayal. He knew that he had finished taking down the White House before returning home and isolating himself for a day or two, but it was all blurry, all faded, as if he was unconsciously trying to prevent himself from remembering. He wasn't sure if he had slept that night. Perhaps he had just lied down, eyes opened, staring at the ceiling. Thinking.

He wasn't sure if he correctly remembered the wetness of his cheeks and the taste of salt on his lips. Maybe he was just in denial. Then again, would a man in denial wonder if he was in denial ? Probably not. Unless he would. He wasn't sure.

He had been angry, yes. Furious. At who ? Quackity ? The rebels ? Himself ? Of course not, that would have been ridiculous. Who, then ?

He had been sad. Desperate, perhaps. Lonely ? No, he wasn't lonely. He had no reason to be lonely. He was at the top of the nation. What did it matter that the person closest to a friend had just hurt him and left him to die ? It didn't matter, it didn't. He still had Fundy and George at his side. But they were traitors, weren't they ? And he knew that, didn't he ? He knew that they were spying on him for Wilbur and Dream, didn't he ? They weren't really at his side then. Proof was the war had started, Fundy had fought on the opposite side of it, and George had simply disappeared from the battlefield.

He _was_ lonely, wasn't he ?

There was movement in his peripheral vision. He flinched. Had they found him already ? Was his time over ?

A flash of green. A white mask decorated with a smile. Oh, it was Dream. Dream was on his side. He was, right ? Wasn't he ? Maybe he was going to betray him at the last minute. Maybe he already had. Maybe he was leading his enemies to him. Or was Schlatt becoming paranoid ?

He was tired, so tired. Tired of leading, tired of fighting, tired of being befriended and betrayed, over and over again. Why was he even trying anymore ?

"You good, man ?"

Right, Dream. Dream was there. He hadn't betrayed him yet. He was worried about his health - but he actually wasn't, was he ? That was politeness, rather than actual concern. Why was the man even standing there ? Why was he still standing by the side of the one people liked to give so many names to, villain, tyrant, dictator, monster ?

They had made a deal. He remembered now. After the few days Schlatt had spent sulking in his house - no, he hadn't been sulking, Quackity hadn't mattered enough to him for him to be sulking, he had just been... taking a break after getting shot - he had come to one of the meetings of his government, ignoring the concerned - psh, concerned about what ? Him ? Or the potential nefarious plans he had been plotting to... to what, exactly ? He was in power already ! Why would he even hide his plans ? - inquiries of his subordinates.

Where had the meeting even taken place ? He had destroyed the White House, hadn't he ? Ugh, he didn't know, his head hurt, he couldn't remember a thing, why was he so lost, why was he so-

Dream, Dream. Dream had approached him - or had it been George ? - with a proposition. A deal. A promise to stand with him if he ever fought against the rebels, the exiled of his nation. That didn't even make sense. What kind of deal was that ? Schlatt was a businessman, he knew quite a bit about deals, and that one definitely seemed unfair on Dream's side. What was he going to gain from it ?

When asked about it, the man had simply shrugged. "I fight for chaos," he had announced with a smile in his voice, "and right now the fight seems a little unfair on your side, doesn't it ? Also, I wouldn't mind getting my revenge on the people who decided to create their own playground on my territory and proclaim their independence from me."

Schlatt had understood, or at least agreed. And, to be fair, Dream had made a compelling argument in his favor by revealing Wilbur's big plot to him. TNT. A huge amount of it, hidden somewhere in Manberg. Dream had been evasive as to how exactly Wilbur had acquired so much of it. Both knew why. It hadn't mattered though, because he had helped him remove it from the room it had been hidden in. Schlatt wasn't petty. Or maybe he was. It didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore, he was a dead man walking.

What had happened next again ?

Oh.

_Right._

It had been a funny moment, it really had. He would have laughed if he hadn't been as impressed by the sheer audacity of the man. He had had the nerve to randomly send him a message, asking him to meet up, after everything he had done ? Wow. That was a powerful move. Also quite obviously a trap. He had accepted the invitation, though, because such boldness had to be rewarded, and he had been very curious about the reasons that had led him to make such a request.

"Hey, Big Q," he had smirked as the man had stepped towards him.

It had felt shocking, seeing him again. The last time they had talked had been their argument, the last emotion on Quackity's face had been pure fear as he had dropped his crossbow. He had thought they wouldn't see each other ever again, except maybe during an hypothetical final war. Well, he guessed he did have that war, in the end ; but his ex-vice president had come back before for some reason, and the idea had stirred up a multitude of very contradictory feelings inside of him.

Anger of course, for shooting him and leaving him to die on the ground without so much as a look back. Curiosity, what was so important to him that he had come back in enemy territory, to face a man he had almost killed, who had the power to get people to banish him from the city and hunt him down until he lied dead at his feet ? Amusement, knowing that his reason for coming back very obviously was linked to him, which meant that Schlatt had some kind of power over him, that the man depended on his desire.

Sorrow. It felt like a taunt, like a middle finger raised at his efforts to move on and forget about his failure.

He ignored that one more than the others, obviously.

It didn't take that long for Quackity's goal to be revealed, though. First the book. The contract, the permit that would have allowed him to build his hotel. The book and its hundred pages. How much of an idiot did Quackity think he was ? Did he underestimate him that much ? It smelled fishy enough to open a goddamn fish shop.

He hadn't read the last page, at first. He had acted dumb. He had joked around as they always had done, and he had felt sick, because it had felt so familiar, so easy to fall back into, and yet so wrong. Why was he playing with the enemy ? Why was he still talking to the man ?

And then Quackity had started pressing him to sign, to close the book and agree to it, and he had resisted his desire to just throw the book at his face and yell at him, yell everything he knew and everything he felt, yell until his voice was hoarse and he had run out of words.

He had simply closed the book and smiled. It hadn't been a kind smile, it hadn't been meant to. He knew that smile well, he knew it for using it so much in business and in politics, against his enemies and his subordinates. It had been his shark smile, his sharp, cruel smile. The one he used to distance himself from his emotions and intimidate the opponent into submission. The one that had earned him the sweet nickname of "Satan himself".

And then he had slowly started speaking. About the TNT he had found under Manberg. About how weird it was, about the hurt it could have caused. Each of his words had been filled with a honeyed passive-aggressiveness that had felt sickening to his own ears. Quackity had quickly lost his colors, his eyes widening in fear as he had realized that maybe, just maybe, the president hadn't been as clueless as he had thought him to be.

And then Quackity had run again. Or actually, he had been hit by an enchanted arrow first. Not by Schlatt himself or one of his subordinates, no ; by Wilbur, hidden on the roof of a nearby house, who was probably accompanied by Tommy, since the kid followed him everywhere. The arrow hadn't been an agressive one, though it had hurt, judging on the man's yelp of pain ; but it had also, more importantly, made him invisible. A pathetic attempt at escaping him, at fleeing once again, at leaving Schlatt behind after he was found out.

He hadn't been willing to let that happen. So he had followed him, tracked him to the forest, where the runaway had met up with his comrades, and announced with great joy that he had placed the TNT he had found under Pogtopia, their new refuge, before going back to Manberg.

It had been a lie, of course. A bluff. But it had been worth it, if only for the satisfaction of seeing the horror painted on all of their face as he had made his announcement.

Or at least for the next five minutes. When Schlatt had arrived back in Manberg, he had already been feeling empty. The book he still had been holding didn't do anything to make him feel better ; he had had to fight the wave of contempt and disappointment washing over him as he had read its last page and discovered that it had been nothing but Quackity's pathetic attempt at making him hand him the power over Manberg over.

He wasn't sure if he had slept that night either. When he thought about it, he didn't even remember the last time he had had a proper night of sleep. Perhaps before all of this. Before the election. He didn't remember. He didn't remember much these days.

Dream had asked him a question, hadn't he ? Schlatt raised his head, opening his mouth only to discover that the house was empty. Dream had left at some point, while he was deep in thought. Whose house even was this ? He didn't know, couldn't remember.

Well, his memories were already messed up, it couldn't do much more damage to mess with them a little, right ?

He didn't really care anyway, he was going to die soon. Shrugging, he took out the bottle of whiskey he had been holding on since the beginning of the war, looking around for a glass before deciding nothing mattered anymore and raising it to his lips, chugging it until he couldn't breathe anymore. He coughed. It burned. He was thirsty, but he didn't have water. More alcohol would do, then.

There was a creaking sound. Someone was opening the door. Green again, Dream was back. He smirked to regain his composure.

"Schlatt, what are you doing ?"

That wasn't Dream's voice, was it ?

His answer came a second later, as Wilbur stepped inside the house, followed by Tommy, Tubbo, Technoblade and the rest of their group.

Ah. He should have seen it coming, to be fair. Dream had led them there. Wait, he had seen it coming, hadn't he ? Once again, he was let down by his only ally. It didn't even feel as surprising as he would have liked it to be. No, he just felt... disappointed.

"Wilbur ! How are you, old friend ?"

No response. People kept coming, filling most of the house with bodies. How- how many people were there against him ? He had never stood a chance, had he ? People he didn't even know were there to witness his demise. Wow.

"What is this, a surprise birthday party ?" he laughed, extending his arms to spin, looking around at all the different faces that were staring at him in defiance and disgust. All of them were hanging onto their weapons, as if they still thought he could represent any kind of threat. But they didn't actually, did they ? They were just waiting for something, for some kind of sign that they could execute him once and for all.

Someone said something, but he didn't quite understand what. He just ignored it and took another sip of whiskey.

"Are you drinking again ?" He didn't know who the voice belonged to. Did it matter ?

"What if I am ? It's none of your fucking business !"

He held the bottle to his lips once again to accentuate his words. Fuck, it was all so blurry, all so confusing. The house was so small and there were so many people in it and his heart rate was picking up and maybe just maybe he was starting to panic a little-

That face was familiar, wasn't it ?

The black cap lying between two orange ears, the white snout and fox eyes staring at him from above, that disappointment, that coldness, it all screamed Fundy so loudly that it was almost deafening. He had the nerve ? The nerve to show up and look down on him after going to the enemy and fighting alongside them ? The anger was starting to pool in his stomach, deadly viper whose venom made him dizzy, but also hungry for revenge.

"Fundy, is that you ? Get the fuck down !" he yelled, raising a closed fist at the sky.

He didn't see what happened next, but the fox was standing in front of him in a matter of seconds. He didn't seem too happy about it- had someone pushed him down ? What did it matter, he was a traitor, and if someone had pushed him he had deserved it, just like he deserved to rot in jail, or maybe be executed in public like Tubbo had been.

"Look at you," his words were full of honey, mocking the tone of a proud parent as he glanced at Wilbur for a second, savoring the displeasure his face displayed, "such a big boy, stabbing his nation in the back to please his dad. Are you happy now, Fundy ? Are you happy now, _traitor_ ?"

The fox seemed to wince at that, or maybe it was just his imagination. He quickly regained his composure, and his muzzle scrunched up in a snarl.

"Can't you see, Schlatt ? I'm not betraying my nation, I'm not betraying L'Manberg. I'm taking it back from the hands of the tyrant who was tearing it apart. You were going to destroy it all, Schlatt, everything we've worked so hard to build. I'm not letting you do that."

Oh, great. Now he was the villain ? How cute. His bottle came to his lips again, only for him to realize that it was empty. Ugh. Couldn't anyone get any comfort in this goddamn country ? Bastards, all of them.

"Wow, Fundy, that is so great ! But, you know what ?" he paused, watching with amusement as his interlocutor tensed up. "The thing about this, all of this, is that you're trying hard, so hard to be what I am ; but I am what you'll never be."

He smashed his bottle on a nearby table, making everyone in the room flinch from the loud crashing sound it caused. Fundy had taken a step back ; Schlatt took one forward, brandishing the neck of what was now a huge and broken piece of glass as a weapon in front of him to try and appear menacing.

"I am a man."

Fundy's ears immediately flattened against his head as he stumbled back and Wilbur stepped in front of him, a hand raised as if to protect him. Everyone started moving at the same time, crying out in indignation as they once again pointed their weapons at Schlatt. Wow, did such a simple sentence truly warrant such an exaggerated reaction ? Pussies, all of them.

A loaded crossbow entered his field of vision. Though that was an euphemism to express the arrow sitting right in front of his eyes, pointed at his forehead, held by a visibly angry Tommy. They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, before said silence was broken by Technoblade's voice.

"Come on, Tommy, just shoot him. Let's get this over with."

Schlatt sneered, quickly glancing at the pig before once again staring right into Tommy's eyes.

"You heard that, didn't you ? Come on, Tommy. Shoot me, you fucking coward, do it. Huh ? Come on ! Why aren't you doing it ?" His satisfied smirk grew as he watched fear dancing inside of the teenager's eyes. "Aw, Tommy, you're scared. Scared of me ? Or scared of getting your hands dirty ? Come on, kid, you fought in a goddamn war, don't try to tell me that you're against taking a life. Shoot. Me."

A heavy silence followed his declaration. Tommy's internal conflict was obvious on his face.

He didn't shoot.

The world seemed a little less blurry now, Schlatt noted. Perhaps it was the alcohol. No, that didn't make sense. The adrenaline, then ?

But he was finally able to think a little more clearly. To face his defeat. Yeah, he wasn't afraid of admitting it anymore, he had absolutely and completely lost. Tommy wasn't going to kill him, but he wasn't the only one willing to do so. Neither Wilbur nor Technoblade would pass up on the opportunity to take his life.

He had lost. But maybe, just maybe...

Maybe it wasn't going to be a complete win for them either.

Heh. He _was_ drunk, wasn't he ? He still felt thirsty, though. Luckily enough, he still had a single last drink, a single flask tucked inside his jacket pocket, the one he kept on himself at all times, just in case. He knew exactly what it contained. He took it out and unscrewed it before swallowing the entirety of its content in a single gulp.

Ew. It didn't taste good. Very bitter, very acrid. He was kind of regretting this already-

"Why would you do this Schlatt ?"

Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no. He hadn't seen him. He had thought he had stayed outside, or perhaps even not participated in the fight at all. Who was he kidding, those had only been his hopes, irrational thoughts which he had been aware were very unlikely to happen, deep inside, buried under the constant denial he had been in.

He felt weak. His knees felt weak. His arms felt weak. His head was starting to hurt.

He turned around.

"Well well well, would you look at that ! How are you, Quackity ?"

His smile felt fake, his words felt fake, his everything felt fake, he was going to throw up. It was ok. It was fine. Everything was fine. Right ? He was strong, he was in power, he felt weak, he was going to die, he was going to win he was going to lose what was going what was going on it felt-

"You had it all, Schlatt. You could have been a good president. Why would you throw it all away ? Why ?"

Quackity's voice sounded desperate as he stepped forward through the crowd, stopping right in front of him. Schlatt avoided his glare as long as he could.

"Woah there, Big Q, those are some bold words for a traitor."

He stared at the wall. His head hurt a lot. There were so many faces watching him, so many people judging his every move, it felt suffocating, it felt-

Quackity grabbed his wrist, and Schlatt turned his head towards him out of instinct. Their eyes met. It was unbearable. The man's contained so much anger, so much pain, but also perhaps the worst of them all, so much _pity_. He didn't want that pity, he didn't want Quackity to pity him, he wanted to be respected, to be feared, to be in control and he definitely wasn't right now and he wanted to stop looking in these eyes but he couldn't and he felt nauseous and his head wouldn't stop hurting and he couldn't breathe again and-

"Cut the bullshit, Schlatt. You can't escape anymore. It's over, you've lost. Now, please tell me why you did this."

Someone in the room laughed. It took Schlatt a few seconds to realize it was himself. Everything felt so hazy and so real at the same time. Everyone's faces were mixing up, disappearing, he was surrounded by a crowd of faceless people just waiting for his demise ; but Quackity's eyes stayed the same, hurt, accusing, and Schlatt hated it. He needed those eyes to stop staring at him, to leave him alone, he needed to hide, to disappear. Disappear.

"Oh, come on," his words were slow, cold, lacking the playful sarcasm they had been filled with half a minute ago. "Will you stop saying words you don't believe in ?"

The silence was deafening. He felt weak, nauseous. His head hurt.

"You say I could have been a good president. You say I had it all. But what option, pray tell, did I have ? Be nice to everybody and do things for everyone's good ? Don't make me laugh. I could have been a saint and no one would have cared. No one would have stopped spying me, plotting against me, trying to overthrow me. Everyone hated my guts since the very day I got elected, and nothing I could have done would have changed that. So what was the point ? Huh ? This was bound to happen. Sooner or later, everyone would have turned on me. So why not have a little fun until then ?"

Another silence. He smirked. It didn't feel real. Probably didn't look real either.

"I trusted you."

The words had been so soft that he had thought he had imagined them at first. But his ex-vice president closed his eyes and fists, and the pain he was in became visible on the entirety of his body. It didn't feel right. It should. Right ?

"I trusted you," he repeated. "I thought we could get along. I thought we could be friends. But then you fucking killed Tubbo and destroyed the White House ! Do you know how much that hurt ?"

He felt so wrong, his whole body felt wrong. His head hurt, hurt so much, like someone was banging on it from the inside. His heart hurt too. He wasn't sure if it was from Quackity's words or something else. He could feel it beating inside his skull. It felt slower than it should have been.

A laugh escaped his mouth. Small and weak at first, but it grew louder and louder, until Schlatt found himself maniacally howling, both of his hands resting on his stomach.

"You trusted me ? You were hurt ? Don't fucking make me laugh ! You approached me, you tried to gain my trust, and then you fucking stabbed me in the back ! Or should I say shot me ? Is that more accurate ? Huh ? The hypocrisy of this guy. You were supposed to be my vice president, my right hand man, to help me ! But what did you do ? What did you do ?" When had he started yelling ? "When I did something that didn't please you, when you didn't have any use for me anymore, you tried to get rid of me and you ran away. Then you tried to deceive me, to once again abuse my trust to trick me into giving you the entirety of my power. Tell me, Quackity. Who really betrayed who, huh ? Because as far as I'm concerned, I'm not the one who went back on his promise. You felt sad, and you went to Pogtopia, to terrorists. I was betrayed, I was weak, and you weren't there. No one was there. In my time of need, I was alone, because you left."

Of course he believed those words. Of course none of them sent a pang of pain to his chest. Of course he was pleased seeing the fear and despair on Quackity's face. Why wouldn't he ? This was how it should be, how he should be.

He felt weak. His head hurt.

"That's it, time's up. You're boring me with your shit," someone stated as they stepped next to him. He tried to identify their voice and failed. "Any last words ?"

Schlatt looked around the room, around the sea of blurred faces and sharp weapons. Were there more people than there had been or was he imagining it ? Did it really matter ? He was panting, as out of breath as if he had been running, despite not moving from his spot for the last twenty minutes. His head hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt, he could barely focus on anything else.

There was a face among the crowd that was less blurry than the others. A familiar face, one he had known for several years already. One he had shared so many moments with.

Memories started flooding his mind. Memories of exploring the world. Memories of rising water. Memories of a podium and spectators. Memories of two friends joking around in a house, long ago, before any of this election shit, before everything had gone down the drain.

Memories of baking bread.

"Does anyone smell... toast ?"

He didn't have time to see Wilbur's reaction. His legs gave in under his weight. He fell to his knees. Everything felt wrong. He felt horrible. His head, his chest, the entirety of his body was in excruciating pain. He forbid himself to scream. He may be going down, but he would go down with pride.

He raised his head.

It took more effort than it should have.

His eyes once again met Quackity's.

He wasn't sure of what they contained.

He smiled.

He wasn't sure if it was genuine.

"Congrats, flatty patty."

He wasn't sure if he was honest.

His heart felt like it exploded in his chest.

He dropped the flask he had still been holding.

It fell to his side with a loud bang.

He followed a few seconds after.

He passed out.

...

His heart stopped beating.

-

It didn't feel satisfying at all.

Perhaps it was because the man hadn't offered enough of a challenge, giving up after such a short battle.

Perhaps it was because he had simply died of what looked like a heart attack, stealing the pleasure of ending his life from everyone else.

Or perhaps it was because his very last words had been "flatty patty", because he had used his very last breath to insult him.

Quackity didn't know. He felt... empty.

He should have been feeling something, he knew he should. Everyone was smiling, cheering, celebrating. Ding dong, the witch is dead ; too bad we didn't get to kill him ourselves. He should have been sharing their happiness, have been enthusiastically discussing their victory and their plans for the future with the others.

He didn't make a move. He just stood there, in front of the ex-president's dead body, staring at the black of his suit.

It didn't feel like a win. But it was, right ? They had just defeated the tyrant, the enemy, right ? So he had to be happy now, right ? Especially considering how badly the man had treated him in particular despite his status as his vice president.

Really, he should have stopped staring at the corpse by now.

He didn't.

He didn't have the energy to walk up to his friends and smile and pretend that he wasn't bothered by anything. He had done it earlier, he had heard Schlatt's last words and he had shouted back in anger ; or at least that was what his instinct had told him would be normal to do. He hadn't felt anger.

He felt empty.

Why ?

He hadn't been attached to Schlatt, of course he hadn't. The man had never listened to him, had treated him like shit, insulting his pride and destroying his creation. He had no reason to be mourning, and in fact he wasn't.

He wasn't.

But he couldn't stop thinking about whether things could have been different.

When had it all gone so wrong ? Everyone seemed to pin the blame on Schlatt and his election, but it didn't feel right. Would the country really have been better if Wilbur had won ? Or if Fundy had ?

Would it have been better if he himself had won ?

He would never know, would he ?

And what about after that, after the election. Could things have been better ? Could he have stopped Schlatt from executing Tubbo in public ? Could he have convinced him to be a better man for his country ?

He wanted to say no, of course. He wanted to keep himself blameless. But he couldn't help thinking that perhaps he could have done something. He couldn't help thinking about that one night, that one intimate moment when Schlatt had opened his heart to him, when he had thought they could understand each other and work together.

Ugh... so many "What if"s and so little answers. What did it matter anyway ? Things were what they were. Schlatt was lying dead at his feet. They had won. Hurray.

...

Schlatt's words had felt so real.

He had always felt like he was in power, in control even during small talks. Intimidating, almost menacing. But then, during his final moments, he had felt realer than he ever had.

Perhaps that was why his words had hurt so much.

_"In my time of need, I was alone, because you left."_

He had left for his own good, of course he had. Because he didn't believe in Schlatt anymore. Because he didn't feel respected, didn't feel listened to.

He hadn't thought of how Schlatt had felt.

He hadn't thought of what he had told him before.

_"No matter what I do, no matter what I say, people I get attached to always end up getting bored of me and stabbing me in the back."_

He had reassured him at the time. Had promised him not to leave him. And then he had broken his own promise. Was Schlatt right, then ? Was he the traitor in the story ?

And his congratulations... they should have been sarcastic. They should have hurt him. But they had been lacking that heat, that venom his other words had contained. Why ?

He didn't know what to think anymore.

He sighed.

"Big Q ! Are you coming ?"

Quackity raised his head in the direction of the voice, meeting Tubbo's curious eyes and shy smile as the boy followed the rest of the group outside of the building.

"Yeah, yeah, just give me a second," he muttered, stuffing his hands into his hoodie's pockets.

Everyone was already moving on. He had to do it too, before he was left behind.

With another sigh, he glanced one last time at the man lying on the floor, muttering a quick prayer under his breath. The man certainly wasn't going to heaven, but it was kind of reassuring.

He turned around and was making his way out when he tripped on something. He managed to regain his balance, though not without swearing, and looked down to see what had almost made him fall.

A flask.

That was Schlatt's, wasn't it ? It probably had bounced there after the man had let go of it. Jesus, what an alcoholic, drinking until his very last minutes on Earth. His death at the hands of a heart attack wasn't that surprising, after all.

Mechanically, he crouched and grabbed the item to put it out of the way ; but as he did so, he caught sight of the tag stuck on its side.

His eyes widened.

He gasped.

The flask fell back on the ground, its tag easily visible.

He couldn't stop staring at it in horror.

His hands went up to his mouth.

On the tag, two words.

_Hydrogen cyanide._

Holy fuck.

Even in death, Schlatt had refused to let them win. He had managed to get the final word, right in front of everyone’s eyes.

Schlatt had lost ; but Pogtopia hadn't won. Quackity hadn't won.

He...

_He felt sick._

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tiny heart. And a lot of very big feelings.


End file.
